


Home

by Idrelle_Miocovani



Series: To Burn Among Stars [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Halamshiral (Dragon Age), Light Angst, Romance, Tumblr Prompt, what if Lavellan turns down Solas' offer to dance at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 18:45:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19481803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idrelle_Miocovani/pseuds/Idrelle_Miocovani
Summary: She's lost, confused--and very, very tired. But he is there, and he feels like home.





	Home

**Author's Note:**

> Posted on tumblr a few months ago, forgot to cross-post it then and add it to Venara's collection.

Venara’s hands rested on the balustrade, the marble smooth and cold beneath her hands. She gazed out at the rolling Orlesian hills beyond the palace grounds, shining and silver under the light of a bright moon. So quiet. So peaceful. So at odds with the cacophony within the golden walls—the forced laughter, the veiled conversations, the polite remarks laced with venom. 

“Something on your mind?” 

Solas appeared at her side, long fingers lacing together as he rested his hands atop the balustrade next to hers. 

“Oh, many things.” Venara glanced over her shoulder. Through the open balcony doors, she caught a glimpse of dancers spinning on the floor of the ballroom, their graceful movements filled with air and light, as if they had not a care in the world. “How do they do it? Act as if nothing has changed. As if everything is normal.” 

“Perhaps this is what is normal.” 

“Their empress is dead,” Venara said. “Only an hour ago her blood was splattered across the floor of the room they now dance in. No matter how many times Leliana tells me that assassins and murder are part of the Game, I can’t believe that they accept that so willingly.” 

Solas bowed his head. “Never underestimate the ability of the elite to play pretend. The truth of their world only exists if they choose to acknowledge it. And for now, they do not choose. Why accept crushing grief when there is drink and merriment to be had? The sorrow will come later.” 

“I’m sorry she’s dead,” Venara murmured. “That I wasn’t fast enough—” 

“You did what you could.” 

“And it was not enough.” 

“The Inquisition is not responsible for Florianne’s actions.” 

“I had warning, Solas,” Venara said, drawing away. “I was there, in the future. Dorian and I knew this would happen. And it still did.” 

Solas caught her arm, his hand on her wrist. “Would it have happened still, had you not known? Or in knowing, did you ensure that it would happen? Time and fate are delicate unknowns, Venara. You can question what you could or should have done, how it should or should not have been, for the rest of your life, but it will never change the outcome of tonight’s events.” 

“I know,” Venara said quietly. “Briala is the power behind the throne now, for good or ill. The fate of Orlais is in her hands.” 

She rested her head against his chest, breathing in the warm scent of his clothing, feeling the softness of the rich fabric. She was glad they had taken the time to change out of their armour and clean themselves up after the battle with Florianne. It put distance between the horror of recent events and the present moment, here on this balcony. 

The Inquisition uniform was sleek—black with intricate gold embroidery, designed to complement Venara’s elegant gown, a complicated thing of silks and brocade Josephine and Vivienne had spent months debating. The uniform spoke of power and solemnity, but on Solas there was a surprisingly refined air, one that no one else in the Inquisition had quite managed to attain. Not at all like his usual modest self. 

She didn’t mind. 

Solas wrapped his arms around her, kissing the top of her head as he pulled her gently into his embrace. Pressed as she was against him, she could hear his heartbeat, slow and steady and strong. 

He felt like home. 

And, in many ways, he was her home. 

They remained there, standing silent on the balcony, illuminated by moonlight. Time seemed to still, the low hum of the orchestra inside fading away, the chatter of the nobility disappearing into the night. There was only her and Solas, suspended in this moment. 

Venara stood on tip-toe, placing a hand at the back of his neck and drawing him down for a kiss. His lips touched hers, soft and light and warm. She smiled against his kiss and drew away. _“Ar lath ma.”_

_“I ar ma, vhenan.”_

Solas brushed a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “Our friends away,” he said. “Should we return to the ballroom?” 

Venara glanced at the rolling hills, heart aching for the openness and freedom beneath the moon. 

“I would rather stay,” she said. “If you would.” 

Solas smiled and kissed her cheek. “I can sacrifice the pleasure of the Orlesian ball,” he said, putting an arm around her shoulders. 

Venara leaned into him and closed her eyes. 

_“Ma serannas.”_


End file.
